My Demons The Story of The Real Fallen Angel
by Legend in the Making
Summary: "We did it to keep you safe." She whispers and I feel fear and anger clench my heart. "What are you talking about? I just want to go home and see my dad! Let me see my dad!" I yell. The man that stood beside her walks towards me, his golden hair glowing in the dim light of the room. "Here I am," He says. My eyes go wide. "What-" "Charlotte," the woman says. "We're your parents." OC
1. Chapter 1

**So, I highly suggest listening to Imagine Dragons' song, Demons. It's amazing! I can totally see it in the TMI movie that's coming to theaters in August. I'm so excited for that, by the way. I hope they don't mess it up and add random things, or leave out the important stuff. Any who, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer- I do not own The mortal instruments... duh.**

**My Demons; the Story of the Real Fallen Angel:**

_**Chapter One- Back to the Past then Back to the Present**_

_"Follow me please, sir." said the plump woman, leading him somewhere in the very back of the fairly small building. She had ink black hair, pulled up into a tight knot on the back of her head. Her eyes were small and a dull dark brown, but there was a small glimmer of something (maybe hope?) that made him think they weren't all that boring._

_He nodded and followed her down a narrow, slightly crooked hallway. There were doors lined up on the walls on both his sides. He could see little faces watching him through the small window on the doors. A quiet chuckle passed his lips as he saw the older kids making faces at him. The woman seemed to notice the children too because a second later she was warning them to behave themselves._

_"Ignore them; they've become quite obnoxious, those kids. And rude, too, if I do say so myself!" she stated with a sniff. A melancholy look came to her eyes. "But I don't blame them. They've seen so many people willing to help them and be there for them, but they don't want a caretaker; they want their parents." He didn't miss the hopeful glance she directed at him, but he chose to ignore it. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he spoke up._

_"Miss, I believe you were taking me too your office." he told her with an awkward cough._

_"Oh! Y-yes, of course," she blushed. "Come with me, sir. And please, do call me Ms. Lain." And then they went back to walking to her office._

_When they got there, the first thing he noticed was how small it was. It wasn't small as in quaint, oh no, it was small as in completely, unbearably small! Now, he being a man of close to a little over 6'2 thought that he was going to die of claustrophobia. It was just too cramped for a man of his height and weight, and it was obviously made for shorter people. He managed to get slightly comfortable in the wooden stool she offered him._

_"So, Mr. Daysworth, you're here to adopt, is that right?" she asked, reading the paperwork he had handed her._

_"Yes, Ms. Lain, it is. I'm here for a girl." he told her. She looked up and then looked back down. She would ask him the occasional question now and then, but mostly read his paperwork._

_After a while of awkward silence, she stood._

_"Alright then, if you'll follow me. I think we have just the girl for you."_

_"Here you are, Mr. Daysworth." Ms. Lain said. She then turned to a small figure hidden in the shadow of the door. "Now you behave and be nice. I don't want another… incident, you hear me?" He wondered what the 'incident' was._

_"Yes miss." A small voice answered. Ms. Lain then opened the door a little more, let him in, and shut it behind him._

_Again, the room was extremely small, and he struggled with finding a comfortable position to stand in. After a few minutes, he settled with sitting on the floor; so much for being mature._

_"I know you're here to adopt me." Mr. Daysworth jumped, startled. He looked at the little child sitting on her bed, staring at him. He stared back._

_She was pretty. Her hair was a mess of unruly golden curls, her eyes were large and emerald green, and she had a button nose. She was short, but he guessed all five-year olds were. She had a petite frame and porcelain skin, with a light dusting of freckles across her nose. Her cute rosebud lips were set in a straight line, and her jaw was tight._

_"Maybe," he replied. She raised an eyebrow, something he knew her mother was never able to do. He let out a quiet chuckle._

_"You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to adopt me." She told him, crossing her small arms. "And if you really don't want to adopt me then you should leave. Ms. Lain doesn't like time-wasters." She said coldly._

_"I'm not a time-waster."_

_"Then you are here to adopt me," she stated, proud of her small victory…a little too proud for his liking._

_"You know, if you don't want me to adopt you, then I'll just leave. I don't want a bratty kid." He made a show of getting off the floor. He saw her twisting her hands together and biting her lip. He was almost off the ground…_

_"Wait."_

_"What?"_

_She looked at him with big eyes. "If you leave, Ms. Lain will think I did something bad again."_

_"Again... what do you mean by that?"_

_"I mean what I mean." She shrugged._

_"Wait… what?"_

_"Sit back down, you're gonna hurt yourself." For a little girl, he noticed she had better speech than most kids her age. He obliged; his legs were killing him from his little performance. They didn't talk for a while, both just staring at each other._

_He noticed how her eyes were rimmed red._

_"Have you been crying?" she shook her head and wiped her eyes. "What happened?"_

_"Nothing," she said with venom that a child shouldn't have. He scooted on the floor towards the bed, his legs hitting the bedside table. The lamp shook and tipped over the side, and... He watched with wide eyes as the girl effortlessly caught the lamp in mid-air, still staring at him. "That happens a lot…the lamp falls all the time." she stated in a bored tone._

_"What happened?" he asked again. She didn't answer right away, just looked at her hands._

_Silence._

_"They don't like me. The other kids, I mean." He smiled as she corrected herself. "They think I'm weird and they hate me. I'm always being picked on and they say that I'll never be adopted and today this really mean boy said a bunch of mean things to me, so I… um…" she looked away in embarrassment._

_"What did you do? I won't be mad." He said encouragingly._

_"I got mad, and I called him a… a meanie, stinky loser." she whispered. He grinned and she giggled. It was short and musical and all-in-all adorable. And then he saw her eyes begin to water. "And then he pushed me on the floor and tried to hit me. But the other big kids stopped him, and one of the nice girls told me to go. But I didn't 'cause I pushed him on the ground and started hitting him, and then Ms. Lain came in and grabbed me, threw me in my room, and told me to stay in here."_

_Mr. Daysworth didn't say anything for a while. He just watched her as a tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away and grabbed her teddy bear. It looked a little old, and he could see a red patch of fabric sewn on to the shoulder of the bear, white fluff coming out at the edges._

_She hugged it close to her chest, squishing her face into the soft little fur. She let out a muffled sob and hiccupped. Mr. Daysworth cautiously patted her on the shoulder and he felt her tense up, the muscles tightening. Then, surprisingly, she began to relax. She looked up at him, teary-eyed and pouting. He watched her curiously. He had only had one child before, but he was taken away from him after the war he had been in, so didn't really know if he was good with kids. He shuddered as he remembered the horrible things that had happened to him and his family._

_He had done a lot of bad things, and that's why his wife left him. That's why she had taken his child, his baby. He was going to change. This is what he needed, another chance to start all over; this was his chance. Mr. Daysworth slowly and gently wrapped his arms around her, and without reluctance, she snuggled into him._

_She didn't know why she was feeling so comfortable with him. Maybe it was because he just seemed so… right? The other adults who had come to see her always tried too hard, almost forcing her to like them; she hated that. They were all fake smiles and forced sweet personalities. But this guy, well he was different. He was kind and sweet, even if he didn't always act it. He seemed to be confident in himself, but still cautious and guarded. Of course, being only five she wasn't thinking all these big words, she just had a feeling that he was for her and that he was different. Better._

_"What's your name?" she asked him suddenly. Without hesitation, he replied,_

_"Tom, what's your name?"_

_"Charlotte."_

I jump up from my bed in a cold sweat and a little breathless. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, taking deep breathes. My mind is going in a million different directions, but I have no idea why. Did I have a dream?

You see, this is the fourth time in a week that this has happened; I have a dream, I wake up as a hot mess, and then I struggle to remember what I was dreaming about. It's beginning to annoy me. I shake my head, my hair falling in my face and I quickly swipe it away, almost hitting myself in the eye. I shift myself so I can climb out of my bed easily, and then I head to my bathroom. Instinctively, my hand reaches to the little cup on the corner of the counter and I grab my toothbrush. I struggle to squeeze the toothpaste out of the tube, but I finally manage to get a small amount onto my toothbrush. I then lift the toothbrush to my teeth.

I don't know why, but I like to look at myself in the mirror when I brush my teeth. Don't ask me why because you won't get an answer or an adequate one at that. I raise my head so I can look at myself, and I scream a little. The monstrosity I call my hair is a giant puff ball on my head. It's like I have an afro, a freaking afro!

"Ugh..." I continue to brush my teeth and then try the dangerous task of brushing my hair. I start with some water and a comb, but I think it's just making it worse. So, moving on to the big guns, I grab my brush and forcefully rip the tangles and knots out of my hair.

After ripping hair off my head for ten minutes, I place the deadly brush down, put my hair in a pony-tail (rather messily), wash my face, and go back to my room. I gracefully trip over a shoe, land on my face, and then get dressed. Great, I think. This day is already turning out perfect.

"Charlotte! Get up!" A voice says, banging on my door.

"I am up!" I reply.

"Then get ready, you have school today." I roll my eyes.

"Really? I would've never guessed, it being a Friday and all." I say sarcastically. The voice grumbles something unintelligible and I listen as footsteps slowly fade away.

The voice and footsteps belong to my 'Father', Tom Daysworth. He adopted me when I was five and although it was tough, we are just one, small, happy family. It's Tom and I against the world and that's the way it will always be. When he adopted me, I don't really think he knew what he was getting into. I'm a horrible teen now; I'd hate to imagine what I was like back then. I don't really remember a lot of what happened when I was little, but I know that I loved him and hated him instantly. He was- and still is- that weird mixture of annoying, evil pest and caring, over-protective goofball that makes you realize what a small line there is between love and hate. Like, a really, really small line that practically mixes the two feelings together to form, what Tom likes to call, 'The Daysworth Way'. He think the name is rather catch-y. I think he's rather stupid.

I slip on my jeans and socks, put on the white blouse my friend Lilly bought me last year, and then I run downstairs. I smell eggs and bacon and I can feel my mouth watering. I self-consciously wipe my mouth in case I have drool dripping from my lips.

"Oh, is it done yet?" I ask as I walk in to the kitchen. Tom gives me a smirk.

"No, and even when it is done, you're not getting any." He teases. I smile.

"Okay, now it's ready," Tom says and he brings two plates piled high with food. He sets one down in front of my seat and I sit down and greedily dig in to the delicious meal of eggs, bacon, sausage, and pancakes.

"Mmmmm… you're trying to make me fat…" I try to say through the piece of sausage in my mouth.

"Sure I am… now hurry up and eat. Chris is coming to pick you up, isn't he?" I nod. "So, he will undoubtedly be late-"

"As usual."

"And that means you will only have fifteen minutes to get to school, find a parking spot, and talk to your annoying friends-"

"What friends?"

"And then you will be left with five minutes to go to your locker and into your first class-"

"And then I'll come home and tell you to buy me a car-"

"And I'm going to take away your amazing breakfast if you interrupt me again." Tom gives me a stern look and I blush.

"Oops? Sorry, I'll stop." He knows I won't. It's just part of my character to be horribly annoying. I shove some more food into my mouth, grab a water bottle from the fridge, and slip on my combat boots. "Bye."

"Bye." I sling my backpack over my shoulder and close the door with an unnecessary slam. I smirk when I hear a loud, "Charlotte!" from inside.

I'm about halfway to school when I hear Chris driving right beside me. I don't even have to look to know that it's him because his truck makes these aggravatingly loud squeaks and high pitched squeals. His truck is a rusted blue Toyota, so old that some people are scared to drive in it, in fear that it will explode or fall to pieces once it starts moving.

"Well, you could've just waited for me to come pick you up. No need to walk all the way down here, Lottie." He says as I slide into the rough passenger seat.

"Don't call me that." I say. He just laughs which makes me smile.

"Come on, you know you love that nickname."

"I hate it!"

"Why? It's so… so-"

"Degrading? Mortifying?" I offer and he grins.

"I was going to say unusual." I give him a sarcastic smile.

Chris Carmichael, my best friend since I started kindergarten. He has ink black hair that is short, but his bangs fall into his eyes a lot. A few years ago he had the crazy idea of putting horrendous green streaks in it, and ever since he's always done that. But, he looks a lot… better (hotter, but I'll never admit it) since then, so I guess that's why it looks a tad bit better now. Chris has muscles, it's no surprise, but he doesn't show it off. He's pale, but compared to me he's as tan as tan can get. He has these deep chocolate brown eyes and long lashes that the girls at school always go gaga for. He also has this insane scar on his neck, but he never says anything about it. All I know is that he got it around the end of sixth grade, along with a broken arm.

"So, what are we doing this weekend, my loveable yet highly annoying friend?" He asks.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm sleeping in." I sigh. I never have anything to do but sleep in. "And what do you mean by 'highly annoying'? If anything, you're the highly annoying friend."

"Whatever," I smile at him and we finally reach the school. Being the idiot he is, Chris swerves into a parking spot, almost hitting cars that were also trying to park. I quickly get out before one of those angry drivers comes for us, and Chris follows my lead. We walk up toward the entrance of the school.

I can't help but feel a little depressed. Everyone has their cliques and their numerous friends while I just have Chris. Lilly and I were friends, but… no! I'm not going to start with that again. Lilly was a great friend, sometimes I just… I don't know-

"… So your dad and I are engaged! And did I tell you that I'm being arrested for killing a one-eyed man? Oh, and I flew on a magical unicorn yesterday-"

"What?" My brains all fuzzy and I swear he just said that he flew on a unicorn.

His eyes widen. "I'm not really engaged to Tom!" He says hurriedly. I quirk an eyebrow, but don't say anything. Sometimes silence is better than any rude comment I can make.

"You want to go to Pandemonium this weekend?" I ask once we reach my locker.

"Sure, there's nothing better to do." He replies.

"Thanks, that makes me feel so special." I roll my eyes.

"Don't look now, but your sarcasm is showing." I sigh, but smile slightly. Chris smiles back. "We might need to speed things up, Charlotte." He says as I take some binders and books I need.

"Why is that?"

"Because, we're about to be late for class." I look at my watch and wince. We have a good two minutes until the bell rings and Chris and I's first class- English- is on the second floor.

"We should start running."

"Yes, yes we should." And on that note, I slam my locker shut, shove everything in my book bag, and sprint to class with Chris.

"Today, class, we will be solving riddles!" Mrs. Jones tells us excitedly. None of us say anything back. She grins and turns around to face the board and begins to write stuff down. "You may talk quietly if you'd like." Mrs. Jones is okay, I guess. She's a nice and sweet elderly woman who let's us talk in class. Her hearing isn't all that great, but if you talk a tiny bit louder than is really necessary she'll pinch you on the ear and start handing out the detention slips.

My classmates all walk over to their friends and start gossiping or talking about the last football game. I stay in my seat for a few more seconds. The slutty girls are in the corner flirting with the jocks. The nerdy kids are comparing homework and laughing about something. The regular kids- the ones that aren't popular, but not nobodies- are talking about the movies or something. And then there's Chris on the other side of the classroom. He beckons me over and I oblige. I get out of my seat and start walking over to him, avoiding the book bags and purses all over the floor. I'm trying not to make a lot of noise and I don't. I've always been able to walk and make barely a sound, even if my shoes were the annoying squeaking kind! It's one of my many talents. But, sadly, even when I don't make any noise I still manage to draw attention to myself. It's because of my stupid hair, it's too freaking gold.

"Ugh, what is she doing over here?" I hear a nasally voice whisper to her friends, probably Vanessa Scotts. She has brown hair with white blonde streaks in it that supposedly look natural, with small brown eyes. Her face is always caked in makeup that makes her look like the shade of a tangerine, and if her clothes were any tighter, her plastic boobs would pop! Her and her gang of supposed 'It' girls are obnoxious and stupid, but without them I wouldn't have as much comedic gold, now would I?

I keep walking and ignore them. The head jock, Austin Reeds looks straight at me and snarls, "What are you looking at, Shortie?" I roll my eyes.

"Nothing, just trying to get around you guys…" I say. "And Shortie? Really? Isn't that a little bit of a third grade insult?" He stands up and leans forward.

"Are you trying to get on my nerves?" He says, his nose almost touching mine. His friends are laughing at me. I grind my teeth together; I hate when I'm being laughed at.

"Are you trying to see how long you can go without brushing your teeth? Seriously dude, take a mint!" Honestly though, his breath smells terrible. It makes me feel sick; the smells a mix between rotting fish and a dumpster in a dark alley. By now, some of the students are watching and laughing. I blush; I don't really want to cause a scene. I'm really glad that Mrs. Jones is hard of hearing, or else I could be getting in some serious trouble for making a ruckus in her class.

"Go be a bitch somewhere else, Daysworth!" He growls. I laugh.

"With pleasure, Captain." I say and salute. He mumbles something that I can really care less about and I walk over to Chris. I plop myself down in the seat next to him and smile.

"You have a death wish, don't you Daysworth?" He sighs dramatically.

"What? I'm just having a little fun. Something you should try one day." I say. He sticks his tongue out at me and I laugh.

"One day you're really going to piss them off and they're going to come for you."

"Who cares?" I grumble. "Let them come for me; I can beat their tails and send them running back to their mommies." I tease. Chris just rolls his eyes and glares at me.

"You're too cocky."

"I'm just confident." I snort. Totally attractive, right?

"Yeah, too confident. To the point where I would like to duct tape your mouth shut before you get one of us maimed." He states.

"You know what they say; Silence is golden, duct tape is silver."

"Not always. They make different colored duct tape and patterned duct tape." He replies innocently. I shove his shoulder, but laugh anyway.

"Shut up."

"You first." We smile at each other and talk quietly until Mrs. Jones tells us to get back to our seats.

The rest of class goes without a hitch, but that's probably because I'm not listening to anything. Instead, I'm doodling in my notebook trying to ignore the odd sensation on the back of my head.I glance behind me and watch with amusement as Austin tries to burn wholes through my skull. He sneers at me and something sharp and glistening pokes out from his lower lip. It's black and has a point that's as sharp as knife and rather deadly looking. I stare at it for what seems like an eternity. Austin seems to see my staring and he closes his mouth, tightly clenching his jaw. His eyes, usually a light, muddy brown, are now a dark, cloudy black that sends an electrifying shock of fear through me. I shiver and quickly turn back around. I concentrate on the rest of whatever Mrs. Jones is talking about and ignore the questioning look Chris sends me from across the room. I don't know exactly what I just saw, but I do know that I'm a little scared. And a little… angry? Am I angry at myself or at Austin? I don't know… but what I do know is that I have this strange feeling like I should go up to him and do something, but I don't know what.

I shake my head. It was probably nothing, just a trick of the light or something. But it still scares me. Images of him coming to my house at night and taking the spike out of his mouth, cutting me with it fills my mind. I imagine him tearing me to shreds with claws instead of fingers, and screeching like a banshee as he kills me. I see him grab Tom and Chris and-

RRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! I jump in my seat as the bell goes off. My breathing is heavy and my heart is beating like crazy.

"It's just your imagination … Calm down, Daysworth…" I breathe. I bend down to grab my book bag, and watch out of the corner of my eye as Austin walks past my desk. He doesn't even spare me a glance.

For the rest of the day I actually concentrated on my classes. I just don't want the images to pop back in my head. Chris won't stop pestering me about what happened in English this morning, but I will not answer him. He's already worried about me, no need for him to worry even more. Yes, Chris knows about my dreams. He knows that I'm losing sleep and that I wake up scared out of my wits or completely desperate to finish the dream. Chris knows that it's driving me insane and I know he wants to help me, but there is really nothing he can do.

At lunch Chris finally stops asking about this morning. Instead he switches the topic to something that I don't feel comfortable talking to him about.

"So, have you heard from Lilly yet?" He asks almost hesitantly. I stiffen, and I don't look at him.

"No." I say, short and simple. I don't feel like talking about it. "Gosh, todays lunch looks awful." I try to switch the subject.

"Oh…" Chris says. "Charlotte," He sighs. He gives me a pointed look. "Have you heard anything from her or not. Tell the truth."

"I said no-"I start, but he interrupts me.

"Then why won't you look at me?" He asks angrily. He seems to be getting annoyed. Well, so am I. I lift my head and glare at him.

"Do you not trust me? I honestly haven't heard anything from her, Chris." I sigh, and my eyes sting- the warning that tears are coming. "Do you honestly think that she would try to contact me before her own parents?" I ask. Chris shifts uncomfortably in his seat. I look back down at the table and push my tray of food away from me. I've lost my appetite.

"Charlotte, I didn't mean to offend you-"Chris begins softly.

"Whatever, Chris," I murmur, but loud enough for him to hear. "I'm going to Study Hall. I'll see you later." And I walk out of the Cafeteria.

I don't let Chris drive me home like usual, but instead I walk home. I am still rather unsettled about Austin and really angry with Chris. My feet kick lone rocks on the road as I trudge up the dreadfully large hill. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I take it out.

Where r u? ~ Chris

I put the phone back in my pocket. I don't want to talk to him. But my conscience gets the better of me and I text back;

Almost home ~ Blondie

I slide the phone back into my pocket and walk the rest of the way home, ignoring the vibrating of my phone. When I reach the house I see a bright red buggy in Tom's driveway, so I immediately turn back around.

"Stupid Kathleen…" I grumble. I walk past the many houses of my neighbors until finally I come to the edge of the road. Beyond here is rubble and dust, debris from when construction workers were here. They were going to create another neighborhood next to ours and then suddenly they stopped and never came back. I walk through the dust and down the small hill until my neighborhood is out sight.

I throw my bag off my shoulder and topple onto the giant rock that sits just underneath a large, broken tree. I don't what type of tree it is, but it's muddy and splintering, almost toppling over to one side. I relax on the rock and close my eyes. I lean back, cross my arms underneath my head, and before I know it exhaustion is wheedling me to fall asleep. It's coaxing me to just fall into nothingness, a dream where there is nothing but peace. And I, being emotionally and physically drained from my unbearable day of school, listen. And I feel myself submerging into unconsciousness…

**So this took me quite a while to write... like three days. It might not be the best, but it's just the first chapter and almost like a prologue at that. I wrote this about a month ago... yes, indeed I did. I have no idea when the next chapter will be up, and I'll only put one up If I feel like it if no one reviews. And if someone review then I'll post another chapter. So, yeah...**

**I have no idea how you adopt someone or what New York really looks like. Oops?**

**Enjoy the rest of your day, and please review! Tell me what you think! Love you guys!**

**~ Legend in the Making**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the reviews, favorites, and follows! That means the world to me!**

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own TMI**

_**Chapter Two: The Dream**_

Dark… that's the first word that comes to mind as my eyes flutter open and I close my eyes again. With a heavy sigh I sit up, cringing as my back pops. The rock is warm from where I had slept on it, but the night air is bitter cold. There is a bite to the wind that nips at my face and neck, and the leaves blow into my face. I stretch my legs and arms and yawn. I look around for a moment… and then the panic sets in. _Where am I,_ I think. _What… where did I go. What?_

I look around again and feel instantly stupid. I'm at the construction site. I resist the urge to slap myself, and instead stand up and begin the tiresome journey of walking up the damn hill and going home. Hopefully Kathleen won't be there and I'll only have to deal with Tom.

Kathleen is Tom's girlfriend. She's a busty brunette with a slim waist, eight inch heels, and an IQ so low that its ten feet underground. Kathleen only wears the latest fashion trends and the designer clothes, with accessories to match. Her hair is long and straight, something I envy but will never admit. She's tall and her heels make her look like a walking, talking skyscraper. Her defined facial features just complete the whole package; gorgeous, feminine, and dumb. Who could ask for more?

I trudge the rest of the way up the hill and towards my house. My stomach grumbles, deprived of the nutritional value of a good pizza and a Coke or two. I give in to my stomachs pleading and hurry the rest of the way home, praying that Tom saved me a slice or two of the pepperoni. The red monstrosity Kathleen calls a car is gone and I sigh in relief, walking inside the house without a problem. The lights are all off except for the one in the entrance way, the house is slightly cold, and the familiar scent of Tom's old cologne lingers in the air mixed with the strong rose petal smell of Kathleen's perfume. I stride into the kitchen, turning lights on as I go, and find a box of pizza waiting for me on the counter with a small, pink sticky note on the top.

**Tom and I are going out tonight, Sweetheart. We're going dancing. Don't wait up.**

And then signed at the bottom was her large, looping signature dotted with three small hearts. I gagged at the sweetheart part; I had told her the first time I met her, about two months ago, that I didn't like nicknames. Ever since, she tries a new pet name for me, giving me an unattractive eye twitch. I crumble the note and throw it towards the trashcan (I miss by a long shot, but I wasn't really looking, okay?) and open the box. My stomach growls louder, yelling at me for a warm slice of pizza.

There's nothing in the box. My poor stomach bubbles in pure agony and despair and my eye starts to twitch and my short fingernails dig into my palms.

"Kathleen…" I sneer and push the stupid box away. I decide that I'm not that hungry anyway and I walk upstairs to my room, my little sanctuary. I plop myself on the bed, my arms crossed over my small, but okay sized chest. "Who needs Kathleen? Little no good… stuck up, narcissistic idiot." I mutter. A warm sensation starts in my palms as I think of all the horrible things I should do to get revenge on the brunette. That always happens when I'm angry or in suspense, even sometimes when I'm scared or being over protective of Tom or Chris. The palms of my hands just heat up until my hands get all sweaty and I feel like a dweeb. I asked Tom about it once, but all he did was give me a curious, stony faced glance and didn't say a word. Two days later, I wake up to find a large book that said;

**Oh My Gosh! What's Wrong with My Body? **_**A girl's guide to puberty.**_

We never talked about the hand predicament again.

I go change into my pajamas, long pants and a t-shirt, and crawl underneath the soft, fluffy blankets and sheets on my bed. I check my phone in case Chris or Tom have called, but I guess Chris just gave up trying to talk to me and Tom was too busy smooching it up with Kathleen. The thought that they could both just ignore me hurts a little, but I know Chris is just giving me space and Tom is doing what most men would do if they had a girlfriend that looked like Kathleen; stare at her boobs.

Tom is lucky, I suppose. He has a girlfriend that could pass for a model, a bitchy girlfriend but still a girlfriend. He has me as his daughter, a joyous, innocent kid that any parent would be grateful to have (Note the sarcasm), and he has money but he doesn't act like it.

Chris is lucky too. He's smart, athletic , and one chemistry class explosion away from getting a scholarship to any college he wants. He has me, a joyous, innocent kid as a best friend that any other kid would be grateful to have as a best friend (Note even more sarcasm), and he has loving parents.

But man, do I hate Kathleen. I hate her so much, I would feed her to sharks if I got the chance and watch with pleasure… okay, maybe that's a little extreme, but you at least understand how much I _dislike_ her.

I closed my eyes and imagined punching Kathleen in the face multiple times. It put a smile on my face and I fall asleep…

_A girl with red hair as scarlet as blood looked into her daughter's green eyes. Her own eyes were filled with tears, crystal drops of joy as she rocked her child to sleep in her arms. _

"_She's gorgeous just like her mom," A deep voice whispered in the girl's ear. She shivered and smiled brightly up at the owner of the voice. Said owner was a boy, who looked barely eighteen. He had golden blonde hair that shined like the sun in the white hospital-like room, and golden, amber eyes that reminded the girl of honey and golden bricks. The girl looked around the boy's age, but was very short. Her hair was fiery and contrasted with his in a pleasant way. Her head fit perfectly against his chest. "Her eyes are just like yours." _

"_Yes, but she'll have your hair." The girl breathed happily. He smiled._

"_And how do you know that?" She shrugged her shoulders and gave a loving look down at her daughter._

"_I just have a feeling." The boy gave her a tender kiss on the forehead. The small child in her arms gave a soft cooing sound, absolutely captivated with her parents' show of affection. Her skin was still red and very wrinkly, but it was soft and smooth to the touch. The baby closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of her parents. "She's going to do great things." Her mother said after a moment of admiring silence._

_The boy chuckled, "Is this another feeling?" She shook her head._

"_No, I can tell. I don't know how or why, but I just know that she's going to do something great… greater than anything we've ever done or greater than any one, for that matter." The child in her arms snuggled deeper into her mother's chest, and her father could have sworn he saw her smile._

"_Did you see that?" He asked, staring intently at his daughter. The girl just nodded, her still watering eyes admiring and never leaving her daughter's face. "She's beautiful… but she's going to be so-"_

"_Arrogant?" The girl finished for him. "Stubborn? Yeah, she'll get it from her father." She laughed and he did too. They didn't know it, but their daughter would remember their musical laughter for years to come._

_It went dark._

_The golden haired man slammed his fists on the table, unbeknownst to him that his daughter was crying in the corner of the room as her mother held her. The man on the other side of the table gave him a repulsed look, one that clearly said that he was the boss not the young blonde boy._

"_You will not take my child from me!" The boy yelled. _

"_You have no choice; the Clave demands it." The man said. The boy's jaw clenched._

"_I don't give a damn what the Clave demands," He hissed and the older of the two widened his eyes. "This is my child, my daughter and I will not let you have her. I'm her father!"_

"_And don't you think that being her father you should give her a better life?" The man asked, walking around the table, dark robes billowing behind him. "She's dangerous; all children are, but her more so. She has powers that the Clave have only dreamt of Shadowhunters having! You don't know what could happen to her if you're not careful."_

"_I will protect her until the day I die, I swear to you that." The boy said with venom in his voice. The man seemed to find this amusing._

"_You'll protect her? A measly boy, not even eighteen, who makes it a habit of putting himself and his loved ones in danger, will protect a child that has more power and strength in her entire being than you do even with the still remaining traces heavenly fire in your blood?" The man laughed a booming sound that echoed in the room. "Jace Lightwood, the Clave has dealt with you for years. You are young and foolish, and too proud. Your arrogance will be the end of you."_

"_She is my daughter and I love her! You will not take her away!" The boy, Jace, was red in the face and his eyes were shiny. "I don't care if the Clave comes for me, I don't care if they come for her. I will not let her become one of your brainwashed fools who think that power is all there is." The man took offense to this and scoffed._

"_Jace Lightwood," He sneered and a vicious glint was in his eyes. "Where is your younger brother, Max? I would love to speak with him, to see how he's doing. The Clave hasn't seen him in a while." Jace lunged at him, but his father-in-law held him back, anger at the man before him in his eyes. The man widened his eyes in fake surprise. "Oh wait! He's not here, is he? I forgot that he's been dead for almost two years now… if you could not take care of him, your brother, then what makes you think you can take care of a newborn?" The child in her mother's arms wriggled and sobbed loudly, howling in despair. She wanted her father._

"_I… I…" Jace couldn't think of anything to say. He wanted to lunge at the man and take that knife in his pocket and-_

"_You have until the third of November, Lightwood." The man said, dusting off his robes and beginning to walk to the door. "By then the child must be ready to be transported to the Clave with no exceptions." His hand grabbed the door handle._

"_And what if we don't give her up?" Jace demanded. The man gave him an evil smile._

"_Persecution."_

_It went dark._

_A flash of lightning flashed in the darkness and cruel laughter echoed in the empty nothingness. A pale, shadowy figure was illuminated by electric light. A jagged scar ran along the curve of his face and jaw, and his murderous, black eyes gleamed sinisterly. A crooked, terrifying smile stretched across his face._

"_The ones you trust most are not who you think they are, niece." He said with faux sadness. "They have lied and cheated you! We'll make them pay. And the ones who left you? They'll burn slower than the rest. You can rule with me, dear niece, and you and I will show them all who the true heroes are." Thunder boomed. He looked around without a care in the world, and stuck up his hand. Scarlet liquid covered his palm. It looked a lot like blood. "I have to go now," He said. "Wake up, Charlotte!"_

"NO!" I scream and my heart pounds against my chest. I remember every single detail of what I just dreamt; the red hair, the gold eyes, the scar. I scurry out of my bed and search for paper and a pencil, anything that I can use to write with and write on. I find a lone sticky note and an old pen and quickly jot down everything that I had seen. It had all seemed so real; the people, the blood raining from the sky and that baby… that baby seems strangely familiar and my stomach churns. I feel sick, and suddenly I wish I had eaten something before going to bed. I raced to my bathroom and vomited my guts out, since my stomach had no food to get rid of.

I stand up with trembling legs and almost fall to my knees. I walk back to my room. My small hands cradle my stomach and I suddenly realize how painfully hot my hands feel, how my veins seem to be on fire and it doesn't hurt… just tingles…

My door swings open with a bang and I scream. I'm scared and I feel like I left my stomach somewhere in the bathroom. My hands burn and they twitch once.

"Are you okay? Is everything all right?" Tom asks, running towards me with a baseball bat in one hand, and a strange looking stick in the other. I only glance at him, my eyes still wide and my heart somewhere stuck in my throat. I look back down at my hands. "Charlotte, are you okay?" He asks me seriously, concern clear in his voice. I nod my head and mumble something about a nightmare. He nods, but he clearly isn't buying it. He pushes me towards my bed and tucks me under the covers. "If everything's fine, I'm going to go back to bed." I realize he must've been here for a while. He plants a quick kiss on my forehead. "Goodnight, Charlotte." I whisper a goodnight as he closes the door.

I look back down at my hands, still in shock.

Because I swear, my hands had caught on fire.

**Please review. Thanks for reading. I know it's shorter than the last chapter, I promise the other chapters will be longer!**

**~ Legend in the Making**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the reviews, favorites, and/or follows. You are the best! Sorry that this is only a filler, but I've been busy and the next chapter is being written!**

**Disclaimer: TMI is not mine**

_**Chapter Three: The Next Day- a filler chapter**_

I wake up with bright light nearly blinding me. My head hurts, I feel nauseous, and my poor brain is fried. I look at my hands, wondering if they'd start smoking, but nothing happens. I get up and walk to the bathroom, the sickly smell of vomit making me gag, and I hop into the shower. I feel much better when the hot water touches my skin, and for a moment everything seems all right. Afterwards, I change into jeans and a t-shirt.

Tom is at the table eating breakfast. Maple syrup dripping off of fluffy golden pancakes catches my attention, and I scarf it down greedily.

"You look like you feel better," Tom says, taking a forkful of his food into his mouth. He chews for a second. "What happened last night?" I swallow a thick amount of pancake and sip some orange juice.

"I didn't eat anything last night," I say honestly. "I had a nightmare and I woke up and felt sick, and well… well if you go and smell my bathroom you can guess what happened after that." He wrinkles his nose in distaste.

"I heard you scream." He says solemnly. "I thought someone…" He looks down at his food.

"No, it was just a nightmare. I'm fine now." I say quickly and hopefully reassuringly.

"Of course you're fine, you always are." He says after a while, and then finishes eating his breakfast. I smile. "Well, I'm off to work." I notice that he's in his usual heather grey suit with the red tie and strange swirling black symbol embroidered on the breast pocket. The symbol has always seemed strange to me, like it changes every time he wears that suit. It always seems out of focus, and I can never see exactly what it is or what it means, but I'm sure I've seen it somewhere before.

"Bye, Tom." I call as he kisses my forehead and leaves the house, his black loafers' softly padding on the ground. I don't know what Tom does, in fact I've never actually bothered to ask. All I know is that he works long hours and he receives quite the sum of money. When I was younger I may have asked him once or twice what his career was, but he would wave it off and say that it was nothing of importance.

I walk back to my room and lay on my bed. The sheets are tangled and damp from sweat and the pillows are scattered all over the place. I bury my face into a nearby pillow and heave a heavy sigh.

_The ones you trust most are not who you think they are, niece._

A shiver runs down my spine, a cold sensation tickling my back. The man had called me his niece. It didn't feel right, I don't have any family. And he knew my name… ugh, worst, most confusing nightmare _ever_. I grab the paper with my dreams scrawled on it and I go over everything.

The first part of the dream wasn't bad; it was calming and sweet. The parents obviously loved their child and the child loved them. The second part was weird. The whole 'powerful baby' thing freaked me out just a little. I can only remember bits and pieces of the first two parts of the dream, but that last part was like a scar, engraved in my mind forever. It seemed so realistic, more vivid than any dream I have ever had.

A knock on my door alerts my senses, and I shove the paper underneath my pillow.

"Charlotte, are you in there?" It's Chris and I grin.

"Come in," I say, trying to fix my bed so at least it looks slightly made up. "You better have a good long apology waiting for me when you walk in." I tease. He walks in with an impish smile gracing his face and a long roll of paper tucked under his arm. He quirks an eyebrow at my rooms messy appearance, but I shrug and pat the empty space on my bed.

"Don't worry; I have an extremely long, sincere apology for you." And with that, he grabs the paper and with a flick of his wrist the roll unravels until it's half the length of my large bed. I gape at him.

"Hmhm," He coughs, and begins with a bow. "My dearest, most darling Charlotte," I try not to blush. "I realize that I have been a reckless, horrible friend and I apologize. I always believe you and I trust you with my entire being. Plus, I would like to apologize for eating your chocolate bunny you were saving that Easter in seventh grade; and tripping you up in front of your crush in fifth grade. And taking a picture of you drooling in your sleep with your thumb in your mouth last week-"

"You did what?" I yell and I jump off my bed and punch him in the arm. He laughs hardily and gathers the paper and throws into the corner.

"I guess you won't want me to read the rest of this then?" He asks innocently. I just grin and wrap my arms around him. "Hey, I really am sorry for overreacting about the Lilly situation." He mumbles and I nod.

"I know… I overreacted, too. _I'm_ sorry." I lean my head against his shoulder. "It's just… I'm just sensitive about the subject, okay? She left without warning and she had been acting weird, and-"I stop and he pats my back soothingly.

"I know, it's okay… everything's fine…"

We stay like this for a long time.

"So," I say, pulling away from him with a blush. I'm not sure, but I think I see a splash of pink tainting his cheeks. "Pandemonium is still on for tonight, yeah?" I brush a flyaway curl out of my eyes. I slip back on to my bed and Chris plops down next to me.

"I hope we're still on for tonight; Mom's expecting me out of the house and she 'needs her alone time with dad.'" He quotes and cringes and I can only imagine what he's thinking. He falls back on to my bed, hands crossed behind his head. "Wow, that's a mental image I don't need nor want. On to a different subject, I suppose?" I chuckle and nod my head. "Have you had any more dreams?" I stop laughing.

This is one of those moments when you be a good best friend and tell the truth, maybe breakdown once or twice, and let them tell you it's okay. But I'm stubborn and hate when people worry about me; I can take care of myself.

"No, I think they've finally stopped." I lie with a reassuring smile. Chris looks relieved. I've always been good at hiding my emotions or lying about them, but I only do it when it's necessary.

"Good… that's great!" He smiles. "You know, I thought that maybe you started getting the dreams ever since Tom brought up maybe having Kathleen live here-"

My skin crawls. "Please, don't bring up _that_; I've already thrown up once."

"When did you throw up?"

"Last night," I say. "Kathleen pulled a nasty little prank and I didn't eat, just went to bed. I woke up in the middle of the night and threw up my liver." I exaggerate, clutching my side and groaning. Chris growls, sits upright, and cracks his knuckles. "Easy there, tiger." I say, patting his shoulder and pushing him down simultaneously.

"Kathleen is so- you know what, I'm not even going to finish it. I have a little class." He says and crosses his legs in a ladylike fashion, flipping his imaginary long hair. I chortle.

* * *

After about five hours, Chris -finally- leaves, promising me that he'll try to dress nice for the club.

"Fine," He heaves, flicking a piece of green hair away. "But don't expect too much from me, I'm not in to attention, as you know."

"Says the person who has snot colored hair," I laugh and tug on his hair. He scowls playfully. Once he leaves, I slump onto the couch. I already know what I'll wear tonight, but I wish I hadn't planned ahead because now I have nothing to do. So, being the very productive, prolific person I am, I go to sleep.

Or try to, anyway. My subconscious just will _not_ allow it, and I give it up. _A peaceful nap is futile_, my brain says. _Now go read a book and try to expand your limited vocabulary. Doesn't that sound more sapid and diverting than resting? _I roll my eyes and grab a Pepsi from the fridge and, being a little dare-devil, add a spoonful of sugar into the can. It bubbles and fizzes and I giggle for no reason.

As I sit down on the couch, I try to make sense of what happened last night. I've come to the conclusion that it _isn't_ _exactly_ _normal_ to have hands that can spontaneously combust. But now that I really think about it and replay the events in my head, it was probably my fear getting the better of me. I was having a nightmare, and I obviously wasn't in the right frame of mind. Maybe it was the light from my alarm clock, or my own wild imagination. Whatever it was, it was not fire. I laugh at how foolish I had been and take a long, comforting sip of my soda.

Time passes by and Tom walks through the door with an exhausted expression gracing his face. His suit is wrinkled and smudged with what looks like very thick, black ink. He runs a hand down the side of his face.

"I'm getting too old for all that…" He mumbles and I creep up behind him, my fifth soda of the day in my hand.

"You're getting too old for what?" I ask jokingly, close to his ear and he whirls around and pushes me back, fists raised. My soda spills to the floor with a small thump and the contents makes a large puddle. My eyes are wide and my heartbeat's quick.

"Ch-Charlotte? Oh God, I didn't- I mean I'm so-"He looks shaken, and I can only imagine what I look like.

"No, no it's fine." I whisper breathily. My hands are shaking, and I realize that they're balled up into fists. I slowly put them down and let them lay stiffly by my sides. He does the same. "What was that about?" I ask. He takes a step towards me and I cautiously move back, slowly enough that he doesn't notice. He puts his head in his hands and he's quiet.

"I've been under a lot of stress lately," he whispers after a pregnant pause. "And…" he taps his foot on the ground quickly, a nervous habit he does whenever he's lying. I narrow my eyes, but he seems to be purposely not looking my way. "One of my co-workers and I got into a fight… a-and I guess I've been on edge. I'm sorry."

I don't believe him and I think he knows that I don't. I sigh; maybe I should give him some space. _Yeah, before he decides to break your nose,_ the annoying part of my mind says. I shake my head roughly and rub my temples.

"Charlotte-"

"I have to get ready. Chris and I are going out tonight to Pandemonium, so…" I trail off and he nods his consent.

"All right, have fun." He says.

"I will, don't worry." I reply. I flex my fingers. "Get some rest. You look like you need it."

* * *

The black dress I found deep in the confines of my small closet slides down my body. It's tight-fitting, with a deep heart neckline that shows off my top half. It accentuates my small waist, and the small straps have studs on them. The dress itself only comes down to my mid-thigh and if I sit down it barely covers my backside. I try moving it down a little, but then my boobs pop out. I huff and start lifting it up, but then my butt shows.

"This is impossible!" I growl in frustration, and put it back in its original position, letting my dress do what it wants to. I don't normally wear anything like this… ever. But I found it and it was clean, so I'll give it a try. I slip on some heels, short black ones that are technically flats. I grab my jacket and some money and go outside. I hop into the truck, Chris smirking at my obvious discomfort.

He looks good; his hair's a little mussed and he's wearing a white dress shirt and not-so-tattered jeans. His eyes gleam with amusement and he chuckles.

"You look… a little ridiculous." He states and I glare at him. "But the guys will be all over you."

"Not likely," I snort. I shuffle around in my seat. "You clean up good, Carmichael. Nice job." And with that we leave for Pandemonium.

**Sorry for the wait, next chapter coming up soon!**


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